“I remember,” he said, smiling at her fangirl squeal. Country music wasn’t Scott’s thing. At all. But she and Davis had never missed an episode.
“Jimmy Hart is so haaawt!” Davis cried, grabbing Mom’s arm in a swoon.
“I know!”
“Great,” Dumbass grumbled. “I get to watch these two fawn all over guys at some twangy country bar. I’m leaving if I hear banjos. Somebody’s gonna squeal like a pig!” He made a high-pitched squealing sound. “Soo-ey!”
Scott blinked a few times, waiting for him to finish his bad Deliverance joke. “Anyways, there are some trails by the river and an old gristmill we can tour.” He’d planned an action-filled day because he didn’t want any downtime for Mom to question him about selling the house. “And there are some cute shops with ice cream, antiques, and stuff. And that bookstore is finally open, so I wanna check that out.”
“Did you tell them about your books?” Mom asked.
“Yes, the owners are actually fans of mine. Small world, eh?”
“That’s great,” she said.
“Really?” Joe scoffed. “They read your books?”
Scott ignored him. “Plus I saw in the Gilead Gazette there’s a festival or something going on with fair food, artists, and vendors. There’s supposed to be music at the pavilion in the town square too. Some high school bands and local country singers. I think the guy who wrote Jimmy Hart’s music might be there too. Oh, and the fireworks.”
“That’s just what I wanna do. Listen to some pimple-faced twerps honking horns.” Joe made some obnoxious honking and farting noises. Then he laughed, probably expecting everyone else to laugh along with him.
Davis and Scott shared a look, but Mom laughed, though Scott could tell it was forced. She swatted Joe on the arm. “Oh behave!”
“I’m not staying to listen to crappy school bands and twangy hillbilly music,” Joe went on. “It sounds like it’s gonna be crowded. And the traffic for fireworks is always a pain in the ass. We’ll just come back after we eat.”
“Oh, come on, Joe.” Mom pulled on his arm. “I’d like to see the fireworks, please?”
“No,” he said. “If you’ve seen fireworks once, you’ve seen them all.”
“I’m staying for fireworks,” Davis announced. “You can go with me, Mom.”
Joe frowned at Davis, then looked at Mom and her pleading expression. “Fine. We’ll stay for the stupid fireworks. But I’m not driving.”
“Great.” Mom ran a hand through her hair again and smiled at Scott. “It sounds like a very nice day, Scotty.”
“I hope so.” They were all staying the night, but hopefully, they would go home after breakfast.
The crunch of gravel caught Scott’s attention. An unfamiliar SUV had pulled into Phin’s driveway. A spike of jealousy hit him when Phin climbed out with another man. Laughing, they took a box spring out of the back of the SUV and headed toward his front door.
So Phin had bought a new mattress.
You’ll never see that bed.
He wanted to cry or punch something.
“What’s that about?” Davis whispered.
“Nothing.”
“That look wasn’t nothing,” he argued. “You banging one of those dudes?”
“No!”
“But you want to be banging one of them? I thought this was the Year of No Men?” Davis laughed like he had the first time. “I knew you wouldn’t make it.”
“Whatever. I made it six months.”
Sort of.
“Tell me all the details.”
“I’ll tell you tonight when we’re alone,” he said, jerking his head toward Mom and Dumbass. “It’s a long story.”
“It always is with you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scott demanded.
Davis didn’t answer, rather he gestured to Phin and the other man unloading a second box spring. “Which one? Bald bear or blond otter?”
“Bald bear.”
“Nice. Woof, woof.”
Phin glanced over, seeing Scott. He waved, but he didn’t wear that big grin like he used to. Scott could all but hear him saying, “Hey, Mouse.”
The notion that he might never hear Phin say that again almost made him want to cry.
“Is that the neighbor who ran at you in his underwear?” Mom wanted to know, giggling and pointing.
He pushed her hand down. “Don’t point, and yeah, that’s him.”
Then he realized all four of them were staring at Phin like an exhibit at the zoo. Unsure how to introduce Phin—he wasn’t just a neighbor, nor was he just a friend—he decided to take a play out of Phin’s book and ignore him.
Scott was done saying sorry when he didn’t do anything. And he was done being the follower in a relationship. He would not grovel.
Even if he wanted to.
He glanced at Mom and Dumbass. She always had to coax him to be nice and to take her places. Why didn’t he just do nice things for her because he loved her? Why should she have to beg for some crumb of affection at his table like she was nothing but a dog?
Nope, Scott would not end up like her.
Putting his back to Phin, he headed onto his back porch. “C’mon, guys. Gilead’s gonna be busy. We better get going if we want to find a parking spot.”
OVER THE past few months, Scott had fallen under the spell of the little village of Gilead, its friendly residents, and the beautiful muddy Shiloh, so when he saw all the crowds there for the Fourth of July, a surge of protectiveness went through him.
These people better not leave their trash on the trails.
After enduring Joe’s “I told you sos” about the crowds, they decided to tour the fully operational Isaac Hamilton Grist Mill first. Hopefully, they would get a chance to take the canal boat ride too since Scott hadn’t gotten around to doing that on his own. He couldn’t wait to see Davis’s face when he saw the mules.
“I haven’t done the tourist things yet,” Scott told them as they took the stamped concrete path toward the gift shop in front of the mill. “I think we get our tickets in here.”
“We have to pay to see it?” Joe said. “I can see it just fine from out here.”
“I’ll go see how much it is,” Scott offered after he and Davis shared an eye roll.
Was Joe going to fight Scott on everything he’d planned? If that was the case, maybe they’d go to the pizza joint in Gilead instead of the Riverbend Diner. Vivian was a nice lady and she didn’t need to be subjected to Joe’s “I don’ giv’a fuck” antics.
When he saw admission was only five bucks, and ten if you combined it with the canal boat ride, he pulled out his wallet and bought four tickets for both attractions. Joining everyone back outside, he distributed the tickets.
“These are good for the mill tour and the canal boat,” he explained.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Mom said, taking hers and Joe’s.
“Where does the tour start?” Davis shielded his eyes from the sun, staring up at the mill. It was rather tall, with an opening at the top Scott imagined might’ve been how they reached the top of the big churning paddle in the river. Guess he’d find out on the tour.
“This way, I think,” Scott said, ignoring Joe’s comment about Scott being “Mr. Big Bucks now that you inherited a house and a fancy car.”
Jerk.
Joe had been green with jealousy when Scott drove them into Gilead in Nancy’s—no, Scott’s Lincoln. Scott lost money when he sold his Honda a few days ago, having owed more than it was worth, but he didn’t need two cars. When he showed them all his new car, even Mom had a hard time hiding her envy. Davis, of course, had called it a grandma car, with side comments about all the uses for such a “large back seat.”
The tour guides at the mill wore old-timey clothes as they explained how Gilead used to be a major stop on the old canal system and that the portion of the canal in Gilead and the one at the mill were some of the few that remained in use. The mill still made flour like it
did in the old days too, and they got to watch the wheat get ground up, then stuffed into bags for retail. Mom was so intrigued, she decided to buy a bag in the gift shop.
“That’s eleven dollars,” Dumbass complained. “You don’t need it. You don’t even know how to cook.”
Scott jerked his head toward Joe. “Mom knows how to cook. She makes great cookies.”
“Thank you, Scotty.” She beamed at him.
Joe rolled his eyes. “How come I’ve never seen you cook, then?”
“I know how to cook. I just don’t like to. I’ll make you cookies with this, Scotty. I bet they’ll be awesome.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Joe.
Joe’s body vibrated with irritation. “That flour will never see the light of day, Rachel, and you know it. Why don’t you just throw eleven dollars into that river? At least then we can have fun watching some fish choke on it.”
Mom looked at the bag of flour once more. She ran her hand through her hair—that nervous gesture again!—then she did exactly what Scott would’ve done if he were in her shoes and Brent was bitching.
She put it back on the shelf.
Pissed, Scott picked it up. “If you want to buy eleven-dollar flour”—he slammed it on the checkout counter, a little puff of flour escaping—“then by all means, buy the eleven-fucking-dollar flour.”
“Scott!” Mom scolded.
The gift shop was crowded, and Scott could feel everyone watching them. From the corner of his eye, he saw Davis’s mouth hanging open. The clerk in a blue bonnet fidgeted, unsure whether she should ring it up or not.
He ignored their stares and glared at his mother. “For the love of fuck, Mom, buy it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You did not,” he hissed. “Buy the damn flour, or I will.”
“Stop swearing. You’re making a scene,” she said, nervously looking around. She played with her hair again.
“And you’re letting that asshole tell you what to do! Just buy the flour, Mom.”
“Hey, that’s enough.” Joe pushed himself bodily between them, puffing his chest up, protecting Mom and challenging Scott like some mustache-wearing peacock. “Why don’t you take a walk?”
Several people gasped, and for a moment, Scott worried Joe might actually get physical. Though the jerk was taller, Scott could take him. But one glance at his mother’s distraught face, and he backed down.
Sort of.
“And why don’t you get a job and stop mooching off my mom?” he said, then headed outside, throwing over his shoulder, “Buy the stupid flour, Mom.”
Davis hurried after him. “I thought we were ignoring Dumbass?”
Scott whirled on him. “Did you see that? Him bitching at her about fucking flour? And even though she wanted it, she put it back! It’s her money! He’s still”—he did air quotes—“between jobs. What’s wrong with her? Why can’t she make up her own mind instead of always doing what some man tells her to do?”
Davis raised his eyebrows.
“I know,” Scott snapped before he could say a word. “I did the same thing with Brent. I’ve done the same thing my whole fucking life.”
He made a throwaway gesture. “As long as you see the pattern.”
“Shut up, Davis.” His brother was the only one he would ever allow to get away with that kind of observation.
Scott walked to one of the open spaces of railing beside a spacious view of the muddy river. Couples and families strolled by, enjoying the historic mill, talking to the ladies in long dresses who helped the kids make candles on a string or eating the kettle corn made on-site. Across the Shiloh, he watched people swarming all the shops in town. The faint sound of music carried across the water. Everyone was delighting in the old-fashioned version of America’s birthday that only Gilead could offer. A small open-air trolley delivered a dozen passengers at a time from Gilead to the attractions at the mill via the old train bridge that was too old to support an actual train engine. They could’ve taken the trolley instead of walking the bridge, but Joe probably would’ve bitched about that too.
Fricking Joe.
Gilead really was a postcard-perfect place to live, but Scott was so pissed he couldn’t enjoy it today. He longed for the quiet of his little home six miles away. To be anywhere but around people. A heron flew low above the water, its lean body stretched out in a line. It grabbed a fish with its feet, splashing the murky water before it disappeared into the trees. Phin said the river was the color of milk chocolate, not because it was dirty, but because it had a clay bottom.
Thinking of the man who didn’t have more than two words to say to him anymore rankled him further.
Not wanting to think about Phin, Scott stared at the grist mill’s big wheel churning away in the river’s current. He imagined all the bags of flour being ground that Joe wouldn’t let Mom buy with her money and remembered all the times Scott had done the exact same shit.
Pathetic.
Davis leaned beside him and said nothing, both of them watching the river go by.
Having his real life with all its real-life drama intrude upon the imaginary one he’d been living here in Gilead saddened and angered Scott. He’d come here to get a fresh start. He’d lived most of his life on the same unsuccessful boyfriend loop as his mother, but he wanted it to stop. He didn’t want to be like Davis either, always worrying about his looks and getting laid. Scott wanted more out of his life. He wanted a friend and a lover. Someone to build a life with. He hadn’t stayed with Brent because he loved him or because he paid the bills—which he was more than fond of reminding Scott.
Scott had stayed because he wanted a home. It was what he always hoped for with every new man. But home wasn’t a house or money. It wasn’t a warm body with a dick.
Home was a feeling of belonging, safety, and comfort.
Scott had never had that. Not in his abusive formative years, nor during Mom’s constant moving years before she got her nursing degree. She would argue with him if he said it, but when they were in high school and she’d been in college—single for once in her life—it was the only time he remembered her being truly happy.
Because she was doing something for her and her “boys.”
For her family.
Her home.
He’d had a poor imitation of home with Brent, but frankly, the only thing he missed was Brent’s cat, Oscar. For a brief moment, Scott had begun to feel at home in Phin’s overstuffed, oniony-smelling kitchen.
But now he’d lost that too.
Today was a gross reminder that even in another state and another town, Scott couldn’t run away from his problems, because guys weren’t the problem.
Scott was.
Scott and his needy nature.
“Heads up,” Davis whispered at the same moment Scott sensed someone beside him.
Leaning on the rail, Joe shook his head in disapproval. “You’re always so disrespectful to your mother. I’m done sitting by and letting you hurt her.”
“Me hurt her?” Is this douche nozzle for real?
“Yeah, you embarrassed her with that little temper tantrum of yours,” Joe snapped, pointing at him like he was scolding a dog. “All because you wanted your mommy to make you cookies. Well, I’m sick of it. That woman in there is the love of my life, and I won’t tolerate you disrespecting her, so stop being such a jealous child.”
Scott’s mouth dropped. “Jealous? Is that what you think is happening here?”
“It’s what I know is happening. You can’t deal with another man in her life. I’m your competition. She’s coddled you since the day you were born, and that’s why you’re not a real man. Like a spoiled brat, you can’t stand seeing us happy because it means you have to share her. Newsflash: You’re no longer number one, Scotty. I am.”
He was too thunderstruck to reply.
“Are you guys ready to get some ice cream?” Mom asked, the ringing of bells on the gift shop door singin
g along with her cheery voice.
Davis pulled Scott’s arm, leading him away from the seriously misinformed Dumbass. “That sounds awesome, Mom. I hope they have sprinkles. You know I love me some sprinkles. Taste the rainbow!” Davis sang, doing a good job of hiding the argument from Mom.
“I just need to put this in the car,” she said, holding up a suspiciously shaped gift bag.
“I’ll go with you, baby,” Joe said in that soft voice worse than nails on a chalkboard. He shot Scott a warning look, then slipped an arm around his mother and kissed her cheek. “You gonna make me cookies when we get home?”
“Of course, honey,” she cooed. “Thank you for getting it for me.”
That’s when Scott saw what she wanted to put in the car.
The bag of flour.
Chapter Seventeen
“GEE, I hope you guys had a nice day yesterday,” Scott said, setting their bags by the back door. He’d carried them down from upstairs. The skillet from breakfast wasn’t cold yet, but Scott was ready to have his house empty. “Thanks for visiting.”
“You kicking us out?” Joe challenged, eating the last piece of bacon, though he’d already had six pieces.
Such a pig.
“Yeah, we need to get going,” Davis intoned. “I have to work at the strip club at five, and it takes me a while to shave my big balls.”
Joe almost choked on the bacon. “What the…?”
Scott buried a laugh.
Thank God he’d told Davis his intention of kicking them out last night during their three-hour gabfest about boys, broken hearts, and general life goals—aka Phin. Davis told him to hold out at least a week before talking to Phin again, and Scott agreed. “But don’t be desperate and don’t beg,” he’d warned. “Just play it cool. I think the guy’s nervous, but he’s totally into you. After you make up, call me and tell me everything he said.”
Scott felt a little better after talking it out with Davis. Thankfully Davis also understood Scott’s complicated relationship with his mother, so he’d reluctantly agreed to help Scott kick them out after breakfast. Scott didn’t want Joe in his house one minute longer than necessary after that crap at the mill.
The Rhubarb Patch Page 15
